The Man Who Played to Lose Read online

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  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  THE

  MAN WHO

  PLAYED TO LOSE

  By LARRY M. HARRIS

  _Sometimes the very best thing you can do is to lose. The cholera germ, for instance, asks nothing better than that it be swallowed alive...._

  Illustrated by Douglas

  * * * * *

  When I came into the control room the Captain looked up from a set ofcharts at me. He stood up and gave me a salute and I returned it, notmaking a ceremony out of it. "Half an hour to landing, sir," he said.

  That irritated me. It always irritates me. "I'm not an officer," Isaid. "I'm not even an enlisted man."

  He nodded, too quickly. "Yes, Mr. Carboy," he said. "Sorry."

  I sighed. "If you want to salute," I told him, "if it makes you_happier_ to salute, you go right ahead. But don't call me 'Sir.' Thatwould make me an officer, and I wouldn't like being an officer. I'vemet too many of them."

  It didn't make him angry. He wasn't anything except subservient andawed and anxious to please. "Yes, Mr. Carboy," he said.

  I searched in my pockets for a cigarette and found a cup of them andstuck one into my mouth. The Captain was right there with a light, soI took it from him. Then I offered him a cigarette. He thanked me asif it had been a full set of Crown Jewels.

  What difference did it make whether or not he called me "Sir"? I wasstill God to him, and there wasn't much I could do about it.

  "Did you want something, Mr. Carboy?" he asked me, puffing on thecigarette.

  I nodded. "Now that we're getting close," I told him, "I want to knowas much about the place as possible. I've had a full hypno, but ahypno's only as good as the facts in it, and the facts that reachEarth may be exaggerated, modified, distorted or even out of date."

  "Yes, Mr. Carboy," he said eagerly. I wondered if, when he was throughwith the cigarette, he would keep the butt as a souvenir. He mighteven frame it, I told myself. After all, I'd given it to him, hadn'tI? The magnificent Mr. Carboy, who almost acts like an ordinary humanbeing, had actually given a poor, respectful spaceship Captain acigarette.

  It made me want to butt holes in the bulkheads. Not that I hadn't hadtime to get used to the treatment; every man in my corps gets a fulldose of awe and respect from the services, from Government officialsand even from the United Cabinets. The only reason we don't get itfrom the man in the street is that the man in the street--unless hehappens to be a very special man in a very unusual street--doesn'tknow the corps exists. Which is a definite relief, by the way; atleast, off the job, I'm no more than Ephraim Carboy, citizen.

  I took a puff on my cigarette, and the Captain followed suit, veryrespectfully. I felt like screaming at him but I kept my voice polite."The war's definitely over, isn't it?" I said.

  He shrugged. "That depends, Mr. Carboy," he said. "The armies havesurrendered, and the treaty's been signed. That happened even beforewe left Earth--three or four weeks ago. But whether you could say thewar was over ... well, Mr Carboy, that depends."

  "Guerrillas," I said.

  He nodded. "Wohlen's a jungle world, mostly," he said. "Sixty per centwater, of course, but outside of that there are a few cities, twospaceports, and the rest--eighty or ninety per cent of the landarea--nothing but jungle. A few roads running from city to city, butthat's all."

  "Of course," I said. He was being careful and accurate. I wonderedwhat he thought I'd do if I caught him in a mistake. Make a magic passand explode him like a bomb, probably. I took in some more smoke,wondering whether the Captain thought I had psi powers--which, ofcourse, I didn't; no need for them in my work--and musing sourly onhow long it would take before the job was done and I was on my wayback home.

  Then again, I told myself, there was always the chance of gettingkilled. And in the mood I found myself, the idea of a peaceful,unrespectful death was very pleasant.

  For a second or two, anyhow.

  "The Government holds the cities," the Captain was saying, "andessential trade services--spaceports, that sort of thing. But a smallband of men can last for a long time out there in the wilds."

  "Living off the country," I said.

  He nodded again. "Wohlen's nine-nines Earth normals," he said. "Butyou know that already."

  "I know all of this," I said. "I'm just trying to update it a little,if I can."

  "Oh," he said. "Oh, certainly, S ... uh ... Mr. Carboy."

  I sighed and puffed on the cigarette and waited for him to go on.After all, what else was there to do?

  * * * * *

  For a wonder, the hypno had been just about accurate. That washelpful; if I'd heard some new and surprising facts from the Captainit would have thrown all the other information I had into doubt. Now Icould be pretty sure of what I was getting into.

  By the time we landed, the Captain was through and I was running overthe main points in my head, for a last-minute check.

  Wohlen, settled in the eighty-fifth year of the Explosion, hadestablished a Parliamentary form of government, set up generally alongthe usual model: bicameral, elective and pretty slow. Trade relationswith Earth and with the six other inhabited planets had been set up asrapidly as possible, and Wohlen had become a full member of the Comitywithin thirty years.

  Matters had then rolled along with comparative smoothness for sometime. But some sort of explosion was inevitable--it alwayshappens--and, very recently, that nice Parliamentary government hadblown up in everybody's face.

  The setup seemed to be reminiscent of something, but it was a littlewhile before I got it: the ancient South American states, in thepre-Space days, before the United Cabinets managed to unify Earth onceand for all. There'd been an election on Wohlen and the loser hadn'tbowed gracefully out of the picture to set up a Loyal Opposition.Instead, he'd gone back on his hind legs, accused the winner of allsorts of horrible things--some of which, for all I knew, might even betrue--and had declared Wohlen's independence of the Comity. Whichmeant, in effect, independence from all forms of interplanetary law.

  Of course, he had no right to make a proclamation of any sort. Buthe'd made it, and he was going to get the right to enforce it. Thatwas how William F. Sergeant's army was formed; Sergeant, still makingproclamations, gathered a good-sized group of men and marched on thecapital, New Didymus. The established government countered with andarmy of its own, and for eight months, neither side could gain areally decisive advantage.

  Then the Government forces, rallying after a minor defeat near a placeknown as Andrew's Farm, defeated an attacking force, captured Sergeantand two of his top generals, and just kept going from there. Thetreaty was signed within eight days.

  Unfortunately, some of Sergeant's supporters had been hunters andwoodsmen--

  Ordinarily, a guerrilla movement, if it doesn't grind to a halt ofits own accord, can be stopped within a few weeks. Where a world ismostly cities, small towns, and so forth, and only a little jungle,the bands can be bottled up and destroyed. And most guerrillas aren'tvery experienced in their work; a small band of men lost in the woodscan't do much damage.

  But a small group of woodsmen, on a planet that consists mostly ofjungle, is another matter. Those men knew the ground, were capable ofliving off the coun
try with a minimum of effort, and knew just whereto strike to tie up roads and transportation, halt essential on-planetservices and, in general, raise merry hell with a planet's economy.

  So the Wohlen government called Earth and the United Cabinets startedhunting. Of course they came up with our corps--the troubleshooters,the unorthodox boys, the Holy Idols. And the corps fished around andcame up with me.

  I didn't really mind: a vacation tends to get boring after a week ortwo anyhow. I've got no family ties I care to keep up, and few enoughclose friends. Most of us are like that; I imagine it's in the natureof the job.

  It was a relief to get back into action, even if it meant putting upwith the kowtowing I always got.

  When I stepped out onto the spaceport grounds, as a matter of fact, Iwas feeling pretty good. It took just ten seconds for that to change.

  The President himself was waiting, as close to the pits as he couldget. He was a chubby, red-faced little man, and he beamed at me as ifhe were Santa Claus. "Mr. Carboy," he said in a voice that neededroughage badly. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm sure you'll be able todo something about the situation."

  "I'll try," I said, feeling foolish. This was no place for aconversation--especially not with the head of the Government.

  "Oh, I'm sure you'll succeed," he told me brightly. "After all, Mr.Carboy, we've heard of your ... ah ... group. Oh, yes. Your fame is ...ah ... universal."

  "Sure," I said. "I'll do my best. But the less I'm seen talking toyou, the better."

  "Nevertheless," he said. "If we need to meet--"

  "If we do," I said, "there's a set of signals in the daily papers.Your Intelligence should know all about that, Mr. President."

  "Ah," he said. "Of course. Certainly. Well, Mr. Carboy, I do want totell you how glad I am--"

  "So am I," I said. "Good-by."

  The trouble with the democratic process is that a group of peoplepicked at random can elect some silly leaders. That's been happeningever since ancient Greece, I imagine, and it'll go on happening. Itmay not be fatal, but it's annoying.

  My job, for instance, was to prop up this foolish little man. I had towork against a group of guerrillas who were even more democratic, fromall I'd heard, and who seemed to have a great deal of common,ordinary brains. Of course, I wasn't doing it for the President--itwas for the Comity as a whole, and it needed to be done.

  But I can't honestly say that that made me feel any better about thejob.

  * * * * *

  I was driven out of the city right after I'd packed up mysupplies--two days' food and water in a rude knapsack, a call-radioand some other special devices I didn't think I was going to need.But, I told myself, you never know ... there was even a suicidedevice, just in case. I packed it away and forgot about it.

  The city was an oasis in the middle of jungle, with white cleanbuildings and static-cleaned streets and walks. It didn't seem to havea park, but, then, it didn't need one. There was plenty of parkoutside.

  The beautiful street became a poor one half a mile out of the city,and degenerated into a rough trail for ground vehicles soon afterthat. "How many people are there on this planet?" I asked my driver.

  He never took his eyes from the road. "Two and a half million, lastcensus," he said, with great respect.

  That explained things, of course. As the population grew, the citieswould expand and the forests would go under. It had happened on Earth,and on every settled planet. As recently as 1850, for instance, largetracts of New York City, where I make my home, were farm and forest;why, in 1960 the population was only about eight million, and theythought the place had reached its height.

  Wohlen had only begun its drive to citify the planet. Give it anotherhundred and fifty years and the guerrillas couldn't exist, for simplelack of any place to hide and to live independently.

  Unfortunately, the Government didn't have a hundred and fifty years.Judging from what I'd seen, the Government didn't have a hundred andfifty days. Rationing was in force at all the markets we'd passed onthe way out, and there seemed to be a lot of cops. That's always a badsign; it means normal processes are beginning to break down andanarchy is creeping in.

  I thought about it. Three months was an outside limit. If I couldn'tfinish the job in three months, it might as well never be finished.

  It's always nice to have a deadline, I told myself.

  The car stopped at a place in the road that looked like any otherplace in the road. I got out, adjusted my knapsack and started awayfrom the road, into the jungle that bordered it. The hypno I'd takenhad told me there were farms scattered through the jungle, but Ididn't know exactly where, and I didn't even want to find out. Theknapsack was heavy, but I decided I could stand the weight.

  In five minutes I was surrounded by jungle, without any quick way totell me where the road had been. There was a trail, and maybe humanbeings had used it, but it was no more than a scratch in thevegetation.

  That was green, like Earth's, and mostly spiny. I managed to scratchmyself twice and then I learned to duck. After that the time went byslowly. I just kept walking, without much of an idea where I wasgoing. After a couple of hours I was good and lost, which was justwhat I wanted. It was starting to get dark, so I took the opportunityof building a fire. I dug in my knapsack and found some food andstarted to cook it. I was still watching it heat up when I heard thenoise behind me.

  Those boys were good. He'd sneaked up through the jungle and comewithin a foot of me without my hearing him. I jumped up just as if Ihadn't expected him and whirled around to face him.

  He had his heater out and was covering me with it. I didn't reach foranything; I just watched him. He was a big man, almost as tall as Iwas and solidly built, with a jaw like a bulldog's and tiny, sparklingeyes. His voice was like rusted iron. "Relax," he told me. "I'm notburning you down, Mister. Not yet."

  I made myself stare him down. "Who are you?" I said.

  "Name don't matter," he said without moving the heater an inch."What's important is, who are _you_? And what are you doing here?"

  "James Carson's my name," I said. "I'm from Ancarta." It was a smallcity halfway around the planet, a nice, anonymous place to be from."And I'm minding my own business."

  "Sure," the big man said. He jerked his head and whistled, one suddensharp note. The clearing was full of men.

  They were all sorts, big and small, thin and fat, dressed in uniforms,cast-offs, suits, rags, anything at all. Half of them were carryingheaters. The rest had knives, some good and some home-made. Theywatched me and they watched the big man. Nobody moved.

  "Maybe you're a Government man," the big man said, "and have come outto catch some of Bill Sergeant's boys."

  "No," I said.

  He grinned at me as if he hadn't heard me. "Well," he said, "thisought to be a big enough batch for you, Mister. Want to capture us allright now and take us back to New Didymus with you?"

  "You've got me wrong," I said.

  Another man spoke up. He was older, in his late forties, I thought.His hair was thin and gray but his face was hard. He had a heaterstrapped to his side, and he wore a good uniform. "Government mendon't come out one at a time, do they, Huey?" he said.

  The big man shrugged. "No way to tell," he said. "Maybe Mr. Carsonhere's got a call-radio for the rest of his boys. Maybe they're alljust waiting for us, some place nearby."

  "If they're waiting," the other man said, "they'd be here by now.Besides, Huey, he don't look like a Government man."

  "Think they all got tails?" Huey asked him.

  I judged it was about time to put in a word. "I'm not Government," Isaid. "I'm from Ancarta. I'm here to help you--if you're the men Ithink you are."

  That started some more discussion. Huey was all for labeling my offera trick and getting rid of me then and there--after which, I suppose,he was going to clear out my mythical followers in the nearby jungle.But he was pretty well all alone; there's got to be a rotten apple inthe best-picked barrel and these boys
were smart. The only sensiblething to do was staring them in the face, and it didn't take them longto see it.

  "We'll take you back with us," Huey's friend told me. "When we get toa safe place we can sit down and talk this out."

  I wanted to insist on finishing my supper right where I was, butthere's such a thing as playing a little too much for the grandstand.Instead, I was herded into the center of the group, and we marched offinto the jungle.

  Only it wasn't a march; there was no attempt at order. For a while weused the trail, and then straggled off it and went single-file throughmasses of trees and bushes and leaves. Being in the center of the linehelped a little but not enough; the spines kept coming through and Igot a few more nice scratches. The trip took about half an hour, andwhen we stopped we were in front of a cave-mouth.

  The band went inside and I went with them. There was light,battery-powered, and what seemed to be all the comforts of a small,ill-kept town jail. But it was better than the naked jungle. I wasstill porting my knapsack, and when we got into the cave I unstrappedit and sat down and opened it. The men watched me without making anyattempt to hide the fact.

  The first thing I took out was an